


Elephants And Birds

by applejuice_motherfucker



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 07:51:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applejuice_motherfucker/pseuds/applejuice_motherfucker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk's fingers itch for a pen to make a sketch, a blueprint perhaps. Wings, oh fuck yeah wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elephants And Birds

**Author's Note:**

> Anon request on tumblr.
> 
> I can't tell if I completely fucked this up but I think I probably did :/

“Just so you're aware, this is probably the weirdest thing to ever happen to me.”

“Oh, really? I think turning into a fucking bird is probably the weirdest thing I've been through so far, so I guess I fucking win.”

“No need to be so snarky about it, man,” Dirk sighs, still walking in a little circle, observing Dave- well, not _Dave_ Dave, but something like Dave, he supposes. Wings uncurl and stretch out with a tiny flourish, one nearly knocking him in the face as he passes; a churlish manoeuvre, and he graciously brushes it out of the way. “So, you got prototyped with a dead bird and then-”

“Look, I don't feel like going over the details again. It sucks, end of. I mean, it's not a _completely_ shitty existence, but...y'know, whatever,” Davesprite replies, folding his arms as Dirk comes to a stop in front of him. It's pretty interesting, actually.

“Yeah, whatever,” Dirk agrees, only half listening, really, because how is he supposed to be able to listen when his kinda-ecto-half-brother-clone-thing is right here with a pair of fucking wings. _Wings_. Dirk's fingers itch for a pen to make a sketch, a blueprint perhaps. Wings, oh fuck yeah wings. They flap again, just a little, the light catching the tiny resin deposits hidden between the feathers, gliding across each spine and adornment. They're actually very elegant, especially for someone like Dave. They shouldn't suit him but then again...

“You done gawking? Jesus, man, I'm not a fuckin' science presentation, this ain't no Elephant Man show. I'm a bird, bitch, get over it.” He sounds bitter, perhaps people stare at him like this all the time, the constant attention and questions souring the novelty for him. Dirk simply shrugs, glancing at Dave's face which is strange enough without the added glow and plumage. He's only met the real Dave once, even then they didn't speak. And they didn't actually meet. Too weird; Dirk hasn't seen his brother since he went off to die.

“It's just interesting,” Dirk says, a little softer than he means to, but Davesprite seems to calm a little, shoulders relaxing just slightly from their hunched up position.

“That's what you said last time,” His voice is quiet, eyes clouding as he stares a little beyond the floor. Dirk frowns.

“I've never met you before,” he says, and feathers ruffle, wings curling about Dave into some strange little defensive shell.

“Not _you_ you. My you,” he clarifies. Dirk chews on his inner lip as he considers this. He supposes it's been hard for both of them. Well, all of them, considering how many versions of Dave are fucking flying around now. He's come across one or two of them, some happy enough with their doomed nonexistence, some not so much. But this one, Davesprite, has to be the most fascinating so far. Fuckin' wings, man.

“Do you fly or float?” Dirk asks, an attempt to drag the conversation back up from the dark and confusing gutters it seems to have landed in. Dave rolls his shoulders, wings loosening but still acting as a protector around his strange little orange body, and he clears his throat before answering, still avoiding eye contact and trying to appear as nonchalant as is possible with his face half shielded by bright, radiating feathers.

“All sprites float, shithead. Guess I can just go faster or whatever,” He sounds petulant now, and Dirk has to hold back a little smirk, taking a step forward to brush the back of his hand against the down of a wing and it fucking _shivers_ against him. They suddenly contract, spread wide, light filtering through and around, and fuck that looks incredible, and tuck themselves back into place at his back. “Don't, just-...just don't. It feels really fucking weird when other people touch them.”

Sensitive, then. Another note for the blueprints.

“Good weird or bad?”

“I dunno just, like...too much, or something.”

“Huh.”

Perhaps he needs to relax them. Birds take sand baths, don't they? To clear the dust and loosen up, right? Is that a thing? Dirk's knowledge of habitual avian bathing is limited at best, but he knows they have to do _something_ like that.

“Come here,” he says, and Dave backs away, probably an instinctual reaction, be it bird or Dave in origin, and Dirk simply follows, reaching out once more to grasp lightly at the ruffle around his neck, fingers wiggling between the smaller, fluffier feathers and stroking between them. The skin beneath is strange, rough and inhuman, each little spine bending awkwardly at his intrusion, but Dave makes a beautiful, alien sort of noise, face glowing that tiny bit brighter in some strange kind of blush. He sinks down, floating only an inch above the floor, arms limp as Dirk decides to push a little further, bringing his other hand up to curl up and around Dave's back, sinking it into the little bush of feathers that trails down across his shoulder blades.

“Oh fuck...” A hand, human, yes, but a little more clawed, a little more gnarled and abnormal, grips at Dirks shoulder, and a sprite has no need for balance support, so this must be purely from some kind of sensory overload, or perhaps, if Dirk should be so bold to think it, a sign of affection. Either way, they gesture sings of approval.

“That feel good?” Dirk finds himself asking, holding back a smirk because _of fucking course it does_ but feigns ignorance just to hear it.

“Mmh...” Sighed right into his clavicle, Dave's shoulders sagging inward as he leans in further.

It's confirmation enough.

Dave is backed into a corner, but he's not protesting at all, rather he's clinging to Dirk's arms now, tail curling tight around his leg, and his shades hit the floor before he does. Dirk kneels, fingers speeding up their assault in the soft ruff, and Dave almost giggles when Dirk starts running the pad of his thumb up his throat, head tipping back and hands gripping tight. His entire body shivers and shuffles beneath Dirk, and he leans down further, almost trapping Dave beneath himself but leaving a little room because suddenly, seriously, out-of-fucking-nowhere, the wings stretch, as if on a hair-trigger, full and almost grand as they unfold and fan out, Dave's back arching with a sigh full of what Dirk would consider relief, but with undertones of a desire for more lacing through.

“Wow,” Dirk murmurs against Dave's neck, the tail coiled around his leg squeezing and rubbing him through his jeans, and perhaps this just got a little weirder than it was ever meant to. Then again, he's already massaging his not-brother's freaky sprite wings, and getting off on it, apparently, so there doesn't seem to be any kind of limits here.

“Go h-harder,” Dave whines, wings curling, and they suddenly seem absolutely massive now that they're wrapping around them both, cradling them both in together as Dave buries his face in Dirk's neck and chirps as Dirk's fingers do just that. They grip and knead, rubbing almost viciously between fluffy little feathers, working the skin beneath in small circles, shifting his arms to reach further up to the back of his neck, then working down from the top again, to the small of Dave's back. “F-fuck bro...”

“Dirk,” Dirk reminds him, muttering his own name into Dave's ear, and Dave's clawed fingers dig into him just a little harder, wings wrapping a tiny bit tighter around them both, tail slithering up and around Dirk's waist now as he nuzzles his face into Dirk's jaw.

“Dirk,” Dave agrees, whining softly as Dirk meets his lips with his own, fingers decreasing in speed, still pressing in small, hard circles. “Dirk...” he repeats in a sweet little sigh that floats all the way down Dirk's throat.

He writhes and squirms, leaning into Dirk's hands wherever they move, twisting and shifting his body around, arms still clamped around Dirk's neck and mouth murmuring soft sounds into each kiss, and Dirk could swear he would be purring right now if his biology would allow it.

The touches die down, slow and light as Dirk draws his hands back, cupping Dave's cheek to break the kiss gently. The feathers pulse and ruffle themselves, realigning and settling back into place, relaxed and alleviated, tension gone, and Dave even seems to be breathing that little bit easier now. He doesn't let go, but Dirk doesn't necessarily want him to.

A warm little nose bumps Dirk's cheek, a kiss pressing there soon after, and through the very slight pressure in his jeans, which shouldn't even be there but fuck it, it's there now, he finds himself somehow peaceful, the canopy of bright orange wings above him a comfort, the low, cooing rumble in Dave's chest acting as a lullaby.

He drifts, Dave seemingly doing the same beneath him, only waking a little later on with a quiet and sleepy little trill, arms cuddling a little tighter, wings ruffling for comfort, and sure, this is really pretty fucking weird, but its good. Good weird.

“I like your wings.”

“No shit.”

“I'm actually a little jealous of them. It must be nice to fly.”

“I'll give you a ride some time.”


End file.
